The Phone call☎️

                              WALT:To use correct grammar and tense

Write a story based around a phone call.

“It can’t be?,” she cried “It just can’t!”.

“I’m sorry mam, he was spotted in a military base in area 429. Turns out….”,  the strange man’s voice silenced as he announced the truth of the situation. There was a muffled response and Paris straightened in her seat. In anger and grief, she slammed the phone onto the receiver, BANG!. Paris started laughing hysterically and insanely, then all of a sudden she bursted into tears of joy. “He’s alive. All these years I have been mourning over his “death”. All these years I did feel like he was still with me, watching over my broken soul,” she whispered sinisterly. In sudden shock, the phone once again rang, Paris had no intention to pick up the phone. The phone rang continuously, over and over and over again, yet Paris just sat there as blank as a paper, no sign of humanity.

The phone once again rang, but this time a familiar voice echoed through the apartment from the answering machine. “Beep, beep, beep. Hello, Hello, Paris”. Paris jumped out of her seat, wiped her teary eyes and ran freakishly/ anxiously to the phone. She took several deep breathes and picked the phone up, “Uhhh… Hello, who is th-is”. All Paris could hear was what sounded like a man heavily breathing and little mutters from the person. Her voice then rose louder and more confident, “Hello. Who is this?. I would very much appreciate it if you answer me?!.”

“I’m sorry honey. I’m sorry,” the man responded quickly. Paris recognized the trembling voice, she started clenching her fists, speechless, fueled with anger and was about to blow. Just as Paris opened her mouth, the man ended the call, leaving Paris in tears on her knees, sulking her eyes out. “I just don’t understand….Why?”. That moment Paris lay flat on her back on her red velvet carpet. Arms spread wide, with tear puddles forming on both sides of her head, flowing from her sky blue sky eyes.

Out of nowhere, a thunder like knock eased Paris’s crying. She stumbled onto her feet, but by the time she reached the door, no one was there but the sound sound of silence. Paris closed the door, leaning on it afterwards. A few moments later, footsteps were heard in her apartment corridor. The footsteps grew louder, and louder, finally stopping at Paris’s apartment door. She could feel the weight of the person on the other side. A envelope was slit underneath her door, decorated beautifully with rose patterns. Paris picked up the envelope and for a second she refused to open it because she was unsure of what kind of information was awaiting her in the letter. As she built up the courage to open the envelope, she was heart broken at what she read in the letter. All the questions Paris had in mind about her husband’s disappearance were answered, all stated in the letter. Right at the bottom of the letter, in a well formed handwriting that read, Sincerely yours, Alex.

Still surprised at what she had read, Paris roamed around her apartment anxiously, from one room to the other. As she walked from the living room to the kitchen, she saw a shadow moving around in her bedroom. The same mutters she heard while she was on the phone, was once heard again coming from her bedroom. As she entered the room, she was hit by an electrifying pulse throughout her body. Awaiting Paris, was a tall man dressed in an American khaki military outfit. His blonde streaked hair covered up by a camouflage army patrol hat. Paris ran over to give him a hug, but as soon as they touched, lightning bolts ran through Paris’s bones. Everyone was gone.

“CLEAR!!. BZZTT!!. CLEAR!. BZZT!!”. Paris woke up to the sight of doctors hovering over her pale face. A bright light shone above her, she became nauseous and in a blink of an eye, collapsed unexpectedly. The next day, Paris woke up appalled at what had happened. As soon as the doctors entered the room, Paris questioned them about what she had experienced. “Well mam, Peter brought you in from your apartment. He said that you were manic and said something about your husband. Peter also said that he couldn’t get you to calm down, so he decided to take a break in your room. You walked into the room running towards him and just as you touched Peter, you collapsed.” Paris tried to remember what she saw, but as she continued thinking about it, there seemed to be two sides to her memory. Reality and her delusions.

“Mam, it says here on your medical forms that you are delusional which is caused by depression. Have you been taking your meds?,” the doctors asked her.

“My meds? Well not since my husband died, you see I haven't coped well with his death and well I’m just torn. But that night I had seen my husband in my room, he even called me.” All the doctors glared at each other, eyes widened. “Paris, because you haven’t taken your medication, we believe you have been hallucinating and seeing the impossible” one doctor stated.

“You don’t know this. My husband is alive, i’m not hallucinating” cried Paris.

Another doctor jumped into the conversation, “According to your hospital information, you never had a spouse. You’re just a normal hospital patient not taking your medication. So really because you didn’t take your pills, your mind created another world where you were a once married”. The words that came out of their mouths echoed in her mind, bouncing off her brain causing a horrific ache in her head.

Paris lay in her hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling. Her medicine lay on her lap, the bottle was merely empty, not because she took them. The only sound in the room was of the clock ticking away, moving simultaneously with the ticking in her head. Just as Paris closed her rashed eyelids, a sudden chill washed over the room. The ticking of the clock grew louder, rain started pouring heavily and a phone rang nearby out of sight. Paris’s eyes flew open, she sat upright on her bed, shaking madly from head to toe. The call was put on speaker, a man with a steady voice shouted “Paariiss!”.

-In my story i’m writing about a girl who has delusions, who enters a world where she is brought to her knees.

Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.”

― Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft